


I Won't Forgive You (Yet)

by topshelf



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Face Slapping, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 19:27:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17607494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topshelf/pseuds/topshelf
Summary: They don’t see each other much anymore. Officially, they don’t know each other’s whereabouts, assumed the other is missing or dead. Unofficially, they often find themselves shacked up in some slummy hotel room at the edge of whatever bombed-out hole they skulk around in these days, each looking to pull salvation from its corpse.





	I Won't Forgive You (Yet)

 

They don’t see each other much anymore. Officially, they don’t know each other’s whereabouts, assumed the other is missing or dead. Unofficially, they often find themselves shacked up in some slummy hotel room at the edge of whatever bombed-out hole they skulk around in these days, each looking to pull salvation from its corpse.

This time, it is somewhere outside Lucerne on a blustery winter night.  Moira’s flight is cancelled. Angela’s charity event is postponed. The blowing snow ushers them both into the warm embrace of a little pub with dim lighting and dirty glasses and they lock eyes from across the bar. Moira doesn’t believe in fate, but Angela believes enough for both of them as she leads Moira back to her hotel room.

Within moments, Moira has Angela pinned to the door, her frigid fingers teasing Angela’s nipple to full attention while her mouth suckles at the base of Angela’s neck. Angela shudders, body overwhelmed and nerves ablaze. She knows Moira is stealing her technology, twisting it into something dark. She knows Moira is exploiting this relationship for her own gain. But right now all she _really_ knows is that Moira is infuriatingly good at turning her on.

Angela slips her hand between Moira’s legs, relishing the wet heat that pulses back. Moira presses against Angela’s hand, humming darkly in Angela’s ear. Moira smells like liquor and cigarettes and Angela had been on Pinot number three, but neither of them have any plans to go back out in the storm.

Angela leads Moira to the bed and removes the rest of her clothes, wordlessly urging Moira to do the same. As Moira strips, Angela wonders if Moira misses her. Moira’s eventual kiss quells the worry.

They kiss hungrily, and Angela is angry how quickly she falls into this trap, how she appears destined to be forever trapped in Moira’s gravity. Angela straddles Moira and slips a finger into her, pulling a low moan from Moira’s throat as she teases her thumb along her clit. Moira’s pale skin is rippled with gooseflesh, and Angela drags her fingers lightly across Moira’s breasts.

“Hit me.”

Angela looks down at Moira, who stares up with thin lips parted, half-lidded eyes with irises obscured by pupils blown like inkwells. She lets out a shaky breath and pleads again, “Angela, hit me.”

Angela knows so much, she knows _everything_ : the intellectual thievery, the profiteering, the violation of trust. And yet here she is, soft hands making gentle circles on Moira’s freckled chest, gentle fingers making soft strokes on Moira’s aching clit, their breath just visible in the cold room. Angela is angry -- _so_ angry -- but she can’t take her hands off Moira's clit, can’t pull herself away. Won’t. Whichever.

Angela raises her hand from Moira’s chest and slaps her, the sharp _crack_ slicing through the air like a bolt of lightning. Moira grits her teeth and utters a deep, throaty moan that sends a rush through Angela’s body. If Angela closes her eyes and turns her head just right, she can hear Moira’s apology beneath her arousal. Angela watches Moira’s cheek illuminate in brilliant crimson, reveling in the scarlet letter emblazoned across her face.

“Again.”

Angela strikes Moira again and cries out alongside her. Maybe somehow this makes a difference. She adds another finger and watches as Moira’s handsome face contorts into something resembling atonement. At least close enough.

“Angela!”

Five more slaps until tears are spilling from both of their eyes and Moira comes with a strangled yelp, her long fingers wrapped around Angela’s wrist to halt her blows. Part of Angela wants to keep hitting her. Instead she helps Moira ride out her orgasm, pretending her Gaelic cursing is enough to absolve her.

When Moira comes down, she lets go of Angela’s wrist and leans forward to kiss her, but Angela turns away. “I can’t,” she breathes, squeezing her eyes shut so she doesn’t have to see Moira’s disappointment. Moira lightly traces her jawline and Angela briefly considers giving in, spending the rest of the night punishing Moira for her sins.

She most likely won’t see Moira again for months. There is a good chance both of them don’t make it through the year. Angela doesn’t want to think about a scenario where she doesn’t get to forgive Moira in this lifetime.

But she isn’t ready. She’ll pull Moira from death if she has to.

Moira dresses and places a soft kiss to Angela’s temple. “ _Slán_ ,” she whispers before disappearing out into the storm. Angela runs a bath and comes crying Moira’s name.

She won’t forgive her. Yet.

**Author's Note:**

> bruh if this Paris map doesn't mean some good Dark Moira content I DON'T WANT IT


End file.
